


This Is War

by Ophelia_Black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Black/pseuds/Ophelia_Black
Summary: Neville has never considered himself a hero, but when the Carrows destroy the Hogwarts he loves, someone has to step up. Inspired by the song of the same name by 30 Seconds to Mars. Done for a friend.Originally posted August 2013





	This Is War

**Author's Note:**

> This one’s still for you, Zach. I don’t think you remembered me promising you a story about Neville to go with the song This is War (lyrics have since been taken out) sometime in 2011, so I sure don’t think you remember me actually writing the thing. But it’s a work that I’m still proud of and so thanks still go to you.
> 
> Originally posted August 2013. 
> 
> \- Ophelia

Detention, they claimed, is a time for reflection. Specifically, reflection upon the student's own pathetic weakness, paying close attention to how terribly easily the Carrows could crush them under their heels, a reflection on how wise it might be to end their petty rebellion. But Neville Longbottom had never been very good at following a teacher's instructions, even when he wanted to.

* * *

Detention is for reflecting, that much is true. Even now, as he finds himself falling to the ground again, he reflects. It came to him through a whisper, a murmured exchange between two unremarkable students who stood beside him as they queued outside of the Muggle Studies classroom one day. "The world is your armory," the student had told their friend, unaware that Neville was carefully listening. "Be creative with your weapons and it won't matter if they take your wand; they can't stop you." As it turned out, this was the best piece of advice he had ever heard in his life.

War made them all soldiers, down to the smallest, most timid first year. Even the Creevey brothers were known to carry knives on their person at all times, and it was rumored that you could buy poisons from a certain clique of four unassuming Hufflepuff girls, if you knew who to talk to. Neville had never paid much attention to these rumors, but following a string of half a dozen suicides over two particularly brutal weeks, the girls had vanished overnight and were never seen again. With a few notable exceptions, House rivalries were a thing of the past, a relic of days when the students had animosity to spare. Slytherin, Gryffindor, it didn’t matter; the fight was Student vs. Carrow, a game that everyone played and everyone lost.

* * *

The She-Carrow is speaking and her brother is laughing, but their noise is nowhere near as important to Neville as the broken inkwell below the desk, just within reach. The left side of his face is already sticky with the tacky half-dried ink that coats the floor around it, staining the stone and his clothes. He lay for a moment, flush against the floor and gasping for breath, waiting for his trembling limbs to steady and his breathing to slow and the vestiges of pain to leave. They don't, and they won't, so he forces himself back into a sitting position. Trying to stand, Neville had quickly learned, only meant that he had farther to fall, but going on his knees was out of the question. So he sits, looking back up at his tormentors with a grimace that he thinks is a disconcertingly pleasant smile.  
  
“The fuck are you looking at, Longbottom?” Carrow sneers, turning towards him a few agonizing moments later. Neville does not have a chance to reply before being hit with another Cruciatus, and his attempt at a smile falls off of his face at once. The worst part about this curse, he believes, is that it allows its victims no dignity, no humanity. He transforms into a creature who knows nothing but pain, and would do anything in the world to end it. He flops back to the floor and screams and twitches, unable to block the agony long enough to damn the Carrows for reducing him to this. After an interminable period, the curse lifts, the creature dies and he becomes Neville again, sweating and shaking on the ground.

A terrible image comes to him, an image of his parents in the same position, so many years ago. His parents convulsing and shrieking in the same position as him, aflame with unendurable agony, even considering begging for mercy that they know does not exist. His parents disarmed, outnumbered, listening to the cruel laughter of their torturers, not knowing that one of these curses will be the one that will push them over the edge, make their sanity snap like a twig and leave them broken for the rest of their lives…

“No,” he whispers to no one, reaching for the inkwell on the ground and grasping it in his trembling fist. The broken edge of glass slices into his palm, blood dripping into the viscous half-dried ink within. The pain is laughably minor, and Neville grips the bottle more firmly.

* * *

 The She-Carrow turns to him, having heard his whisper. “’No’ what, Longbottom?” she croons obnoxiously. Her brother gives a snorting laugh, a smirk twisting across his lopsided face.

“NO!” Neville screams, and hurls the inkwell at her with all of the strength he could summon. She gives a piercing cry as it smashes right across her face, blood and ink dripping from her and shards of glass flying in every direction. She drops her wand and Neville lunges for it, then sprints for the door, his aching weariness forgotten. In his burst of adrenaline, the door unlocks and flies open before him and he is streaking down the corridors and up the stairs faster than his legs have ever carried him before.

Neville Longbottom has never been closer to death. He has never felt more alive.

* * *

After he describes the detention to Ginny and Luna the following day at breakfast, huddled in the courtyard for an attempt at privacy, the story of the inkwell incident spreads like wildfire. A victory against the Carrows, a rallying point for the weary students. Students who he doesn’t know pat him on the back in hallways, and Neville is surprised to receive encouraging remarks and smiles even from those who had tormented him throughout the previous years. The teachers act differently too, having never made a secret of their disdain for the Carrows. McGonagall exempts him from the next essay she sets, Flitwick gives him twenty points just for coming to class, Sprout gives him a hug and a clipping of a budding Hellephant Vine for the cut on his hand. The entire castle rallies around him, the hero who stood up to his oppressors. Neville knows that his triumph cannot last, cannot go unchallenged, but he’ll take whatever satisfaction he can get.

* * *

 The last class of the day is Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Neville knows that the Carrows’ retribution is at hand. The students file in and sit down in a dejected silence, waiting for roll to be called.

“Longbottom?”

“Here.”

“Detention. Tonight at eight.”

He gathers his bags and leaves the class at once, trying to ignore the sympathetic faces of the silently watching students that he passes on the way out. He half expects Carrow to call him back, but a glance back from the doorway confirms that he hasn’t looked up from the roll. Neville’s walk morphs into a run as soon as he’s sure the class can no longer hear his footsteps.

Another detention. A stone floor meticulously cleared of debris, a room completely empty of even its usual furniture. More torture. No broken inkwell. No escape.

* * *

 Late is the hour when Neville limps back to the Gryffindor common room, brushing aside the Fat Lady’s wince and murmur of “Are- are you quite all right, dear?” as she swings open uncertainly. The room is almost completely empty, with only Ginny still awake, waiting for him by the dying fire. A textbook sits open on the table in front of her, but her parchment is still rolled up, her ink bottle still sealed. She turns her quill over and over in her hands, a slight frown on her face as she stares at it, only glancing up when Neville clears his throat.

She gestures for him to take the softest chair by the fire, watching as he sinks gratefully into it, burying his face wearily in his hands. Several long moments pass until she speaks. “So, how bad was it?” she asks hesitantly, trying to catch his eye. Neville takes a deep breath and sighs.

“Gin, do you think we were able to make a difference today?” he asks, choosing to ignore her question. There is a faint flowery smell in the air as the witch shifts closer to him, crouching next to his chair and draping an arm over his shoulder. He winces at the light pressure and she quickly withdraws, making a soft noise of sympathy. The remains of a log shifts and crumbles in the fireplace, and for a long moment the room is silent but for the sound of the low, crackling flames.

“I don’t know,” she says, and he looks up at her. She looks old beyond her years, and tired, so tired. The pain and weariness in her eyes becomes too much and he turns away. The glow of embers bathes the room, intensifying the red of the walls. The color flickers, and Neville suddenly feels as though the room were drenched in blood, and that he and Ginny are drowning in it.

* * *

“Ok, what did McGonagall tell you, again?” Ginny breathes. She steps up the wall, placing the tip of her wand against the rough stone, then turns towards Luna and waits for further instruction.

“Not that close, you should be about an inch away,” Luna says softly, and Ginny acquiesces. “Also, McGonagall told me that I didn’t hear this from her, so if-”

“Yeah, we read it in a book or something, we won’t remember which one. You’ve told us this, Luna. But what’s the incantation? We don’t have much time,” Ginny says hastily, her voice rising to a whisper.

Neville turns to her, having been keeping guard since the group arrived in the corridor. “Keep it down, Gin,” he mutters, and she looks stricken. The three stand still and silent for a moment, waiting anxiously for the sound of an approaching teacher. If they get caught…

A minute passes, then two, and finally Luna leans in and whispers the incantation into Ginny’s ear. She nods, and faces the wall again. The blonde haired witch takes up her position facing the other end of the corridor, keeping watch as well while Ginny writes on the wall. Her handwriting, much neater than that of the other two, blooms under the wand and onto the wall in foot high letters.

“Much better than painting with rooster blood,” she mutters as she works. “At least I know what I’m doing now… Show you, Tom… You’re not in charge…” Neville turns to her and is startled to see a vicious snarl on her face, her eyes blazing with furious conviction.

* * *

Minutes creep by with agonizing slowness as Ginny works on the wall and the other two hold their breaths waiting for any sign of an intruder. At last, Neville hears a whisper of “I’m done” and turns around. They had chosen the location carefully, the corridor on the seventh floor with the painting of the trolls. If a patrolling teacher had come near them, it would be relatively easy for Neville and Ginny to make their way safely to their dormitory on the same floor. Luna would have had a longer trip, but there was an unspoken agreement between the three that the Carrows saw her as a much smaller threat than the Gryffindors.

More importantly, they painted right in front of the Room of Requirement, where they want their audience to go as soon as they read the message. Ginny’s writing covered the entire wall in a garishly bright green, impossible to miss against the dark stone.

“Dumbledore’s Army, now recruiting.”

The message was carefully chosen to inspire previous members of the D.A., and remind them that they were still part of something at Hogwarts. You’re not fighting alone, but as an army. Tell your friends, spread the word, we’re bringing the Carrows down. You’re part of the battle whether you like it or not, so come here and get prepared. Neville feels inspired himself just looking at it, knowing that he and Ginny and Luna would keep fighting the good fight no matter what, knowing that there is still a chance of rallying the students behind them.

He hopes that it will be enough.

* * *

On Christmas Day, Neville pulls out an old photo album and blows a thin layer of dust off the cover. The page he is looking for had been marked with a strip of parchment a long time ago, and he flicks to it quickly. He looks down at the picture of himself sitting in the grass with Ginny and Luna, grinning and waving up at Colin Creevey, who was holding the camera. He can see Ginny talking enthusiastically, and the photo bounces up and down when Colin shakes with laughter just as he took the picture.

He watches for a time, a scene of happiness from the end of his fifth year, before he realized how serious the war would get. Luna didn’t seem to realize that she was sitting for a picture, but seemed cheerful enough. She spent much of the time smiling vaguely at the lake, but the smile grew warmer and more excited any time she turned to the others and saw them sitting and chatting with her. At one point, after noticing the group again, she scooted closer to Ginny and even added to the conversation for a short while before trailing off and gazing into the distance again. Neville laughed, shaking his head at her inattentiveness.

It strikes him in a single, gut-wrenching moment that he may never see Luna again. She refused to go down without a fight, screaming and kicking and throwing wild punches when they took her wand. It was the most animated Neville and Ginny had ever seen her, perhaps more so than she had ever been. It had taken three Death Eaters to restrain Neville and Ginny while they took her, and three more to Stun Luna and carry her away. The fight had begun and ended in a matter of minutes, leaving the pair sitting in horrified silence for the remainder of the trip to King’s Cross.

“Neville? We’re leaving now,” his gran shouts up the stairs. They were headed to Saint Mungo’s, to visit his parents as usual. Neville swallowed and closed his eyes, not sure if he could stand a visit just now. The last thing he needed was a reminder that everyone who loves him is taken away from him, taken by the Death Eaters when they think they’re safe.

“Neville!” she barks, and he sighs.

“Coming, Gran,” he calls back, pulling the photo out of its sleeve and stuffing it into his pocket as he left his room.

* * *

Several figures in the portraits lining the walls lean close to the edges of their frames and stare at the student sprinting past them, but he does not slow and answer their confused calls. Tapestries flutter in his wake, his robes flow behind him and threaten to tangle up his legs as he hurtles around corners, but he does not pause. He trips over carpets and stumbles on the stairs, but he hurries on as if his life depended on reaching his destination as soon as humanely possible. And it did.

It had been months since Luna was taken, and now that Ginny was gone too, Neville found himself the sole target of the Carrows’ wrath. His gran had bought him time, fighting off the Death Eaters who came for her and going on the run. Now, two days later, it is time for him to do the same. His Muggle Studies class ended just minutes ago, where the She-Carrow had asked him to stay after class to talk to her for a moment. He saw the triumph in her eyes and knew that the jig was up, and made for the door immediately. He heard the clattering of the wretched woman pushing herself from her desk as quickly as she could and broke into a run, and now his breath comes in sharp jerks as he struggles to keep up his pace.

Neville rushes up flights of stairs and whips around corners until he finally reaches that corridor on the seventh floor and skids to a halt in front of the blank stretch of wall that conceals the Room of Requirement. It occurs to him abruptly that he doesn’t have time to pace in front of it to make the door open, and his heart sinks. He had never required the room so much in his life, possibly no student has ever needed it so much in the entire history of Hogwarts. _I need a place to hide, and I need it now. Right now. Please, save me,_ he thinks desperately. The wall remains blank.

He hears a triumphant yell behind him, but he is paralyzed with fear and does not turn to face the She-Carrow. She steps towards him, slowly and deliberately, although the effect is lessened by her struggling to catch her breath. Neville closes his eyes and concentrates. _Open the door, please open up. I need to get in there, I need to hide. She’s going to kill me._ There is no time, and the door will not open. He lost at last.

He hears the witch move behind him, hears the smirk in her voice as she speaks. “Given up, have you? Probably wise.” His eyes snap open, her taunt transforming his panic into rage. A Gryffindor does not run, does not try to escape. _I don’t need to hide, I need to wait. I need a place to wait. I need to wait until I can strike._ His conviction rises within him, filling him with determination. He would see the Carrows fall, even if it was the last thing he ever did. _I will not hide, this will not be the last they see of me. I will bring them down. Open the damn door._

The door opens. The She-Carrow gasps in surprise behind him, but Neville is already dashing through the opening and slamming the door behind him. It melts back into the wall at once, but not before he hears a shriek of rage from on the other side.  


* * *

Neville has never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Harry, Ron and Hermione, all standing in Hogsmeade, waiting for him. Waiting to fight, surely. His chest swells with excitement at the thought of the Carrows being overturned, perhaps this very night. His hand drifts towards his pocket, ready to retrieve his Galleon and call Ginny and Luna back to the school. But not yet, not yet. The entire army will need to hear the good news first.

The D.A. explodes in cheers as soon as they step through the hole in the wall, and it’s the happiest he had seen them all week. Neville feels a surprising sense of endearment as he looks around at them all. It had only been a couple of weeks since he set up camp in the Room of Requirement, and even less time since the rest of them arrived there with him. Their community bond had intensified in that period far stronger and faster than Neville would ever had imagined, and all of them looked to him as their leader.

He stands to the side as they rejoice, sending a hasty message to Ginny and Luna. “H,R,H here. Fight tonight. Go to HH, tell Ab I sent you.” It takes them several minutes to arrive, but in his state of anticipation, it feels like seconds. Luna comes in first, and it’s all Neville can do to keep from sprinting across the room to hug her. He manages to keep it to what he hopes looks like a light jog instead, although he cannot stop the grin that spreads across his face.

The witch doesn’t seem to notice him approaching until she is swept up in a tight embrace. He doesn’t remember starting to speak, but he finds himself talking nonstop as he holds her. “…I never thought I’d see you again… Thought they would kill you… So glad to see you…” Luna laughs and hugs him back, and Neville eventually stops talking. After a time, he feels someone else wrap their arms around him, and he turns his head to see Ginny joining the hug. 

Neville looks between the two and realizes that he has never felt so… wanted. Ginny and Luna were his family now, and the best friends anyone could ever ask for. “We’re going to end this tonight, you guys,” he tells them. “We’re going to take Hogwarts back. We’re going to get the Carrows out of here, no matter what it takes. I know we can do it.”

After all, they had given him plenty of time to reflect on it.


End file.
